


Ain't Good Enough (A Remix in Dangerous Times)

by Muccamukk



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Canon Era, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Jealousy, M/M, Mildly Possessive Behavior, Oblivious, Period Typical Attitudes, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-12 21:41:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16003871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muccamukk/pseuds/Muccamukk
Summary: Bill's not pissed at Joe for sleeping his way through half the regiment; he's just worried about what will happen if he gets caught. That's what he keeps telling himself anyway.





	Ain't Good Enough (A Remix in Dangerous Times)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [could do better](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10632579) by [distractionpie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/distractionpie/pseuds/distractionpie). 
  * In response to a prompt by [distractionpie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/distractionpie/pseuds/distractionpie) in the [remixrevivalmadness2018](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/remixrevivalmadness2018) collection. 



> Remixed from distractionpie's excellent modern AU, cheerfully lifting her structure and some of her dialogue. Huge thank you to the_rck for a beta read that was both speedy and comprehensive.
> 
> Contains period-typical language for gays, and a lot of profanity.

Bill isn't expecting to see Joe during this liberty. Joe usually fucks off the second they hit town, and only shows up again minutes before they're supposed to get back to the camp, looking like the cat who's robbed the milk truck. This time, Joe slouches into the shitty wrong side of the tracks bar (not that there is a right side of the tracks in Toccoa, Georgia) and slams back three shots of whiskey before he'll even say hello to Bill and two more before he'll say what's gotten up his ass. Or, in this case, what hasn't gotten up his ass.

"Said he was never really interested anyway," Joe tells Bill in a voice low enough to be lost under the out-of-tune piano and everyone else shouting to be heard over the music.

"He sure seemed interested to me," Bill grumbles. _He_ in this case is (or now was) some corporal from A Company who has for the last couple of months been boning Joe every time they get out of camp together and maybe a couple times inside, too. Bill's bitched about not getting to see much of his best friend on their rare passes to town, but Joe always looked so happy that it's hard to justify complaining.

Not that Bill's ever needed much justification to complain. He's mostly been on Joe's case about being stupid enough to take the risk of fucking around inside the 506th Parainfantry Regiment. It's one thing to be a queer (Bill doesn't have any room to judge from that angle) but it's another to disappear into the woods with the same guy more than once and risk getting caught and drummed out of the army. Taking it up the ass _in camp_ is just a whole new level of stupid.

"Guess not," Joe says and orders another shot and then another.

"Plenty more fish," Bill says, and Joe flips him off.

Bill has to haul Joe's sorry ass all the way back to camp just before dawn. When Sobel makes them fall in before breakfast, Bill almost feels bad for Joe for getting dumped and then having to run Currahee with a sore head. Almost.

Bill's right, anyway. There are plenty more fish in the sea of an army camp full of horny would-be paratroopers. By the time they're doing their jump training, some new guy has Joe on the hook. Only problem is (as Bill finds out in more detail than he ever wanted to know) that the fish pond was a bit too crowded, and Joe's fellow has two other fellows that he hooks up with, and a girl in town that he writes to.

"And what's wrong with that?" Bill asks. Joe wants to get fucked; Joe's getting fucked. But then Bill always prided himself as an unsentimental sort of guy, and he doesn't see why Joe keeps running himself into trouble he doesn't need.

Joe sighs into his glass. He's sitting on the floor with his legs splayed out in front of him and the bottle at his hip. The rest of the regiment is out getting in a farewell spree in Toccoa, and Bill and Joe pretty well have the Easy section of the camp to themselves. Bill's making sure his footlocker won't get them gigged, and then he'll make sure no one else's will either. Before got to the bottle, Joe'd said he'd help, but mostly Bill seems to be packing for Atlanta by himself. It's going to be a bitch of a march.

Camp to themselves or not, they still keep their voices low and an ear out for Sobel or Winters lurking around the barracks. Sobel would just love to drum Joe out of the army for being a fairy and Bill out for knowing about it. As for Winters, well, Bill isn't sure how much that stuck up son of a bitch is willing to turn a blind eye to, even if he does otherwise try his best to protect them from their captain.

"I just wanted someone who was mine, you know?" Joe says, not for the first time, and Bill's afraid Joe's going to start crying.

"Look," Bill says, folding the last pair of Malarkey's socks into his footlocker and straightening his shaving kit so it looks like the photograph Sobel's going to use to identify infractions, "we're gonna be in Benning soon. Whole new field to play in, huh?"

"Sure," Joe says, and Bill hopes to god he hasn't just lied.

He has. All Joe finds in Fort Benning are the same kind of shitty guys he found in Toccoa.

They both get passes for Christmas, and Joe sweet-talks Bill into coming up to Hughestown with him for a couple of days. "Ma'll love you," he says, and strangely enough she does.

She seems to know what Joe is, and doesn't seem to care. Bill tries not to turn green with jealousy. "A horticulturalist," she calls Joe, and it takes Bill a while to work out that that's because Joe likes fruits and pansies. He can't seem to stop laughing at that one, and Joe's ma pinches his cheeks like he's five and smiles at him, then gives him an extra slice of meatloaf.

When they get back, they're on manoeuvres the rest of the winter and all spring, and most of the guys don't have time to get up to much.

Joe probably to picks up a guy at Fort Bragg, or at least he has something to smile about when he gets in at night, but Bill never sees who it is, and it ends when they ship out. Bill figures it was someone from the 13th Airborne and that Joe was embarrassed to talk about going with a trooper from another division.

Maybe he was just tired of Bill pointing out that he has terrible taste, which is a true fucking fact.

So maybe Bill doesn't get the whole romance thing Joe seems to be after, but Joe's a great guy, and even given the constraints of the situation, it doesn't seem like it should be that hard for Joe to find someone who wants more out of him than a quick fuck.

For a while, it seems like Joe's finally found that in England. First time they get into London, Joe hooks up with a blond GI, and they see each other every pass, even write when they can. For three months, it's all hearts and flowers and fucking wedding bells. Bill looks over the letters, and then tails Joe and looks over the GI, and he seems pretty okay. (Except that Bill doesn't trust a man who's been a private since '41 and who mostly seems to hang out with the teenager his regiment's made their mascot.) Joe's happy, and the guy's treating him right, and it's all finally going good.

Then Christmas rolls around again, and they have a week off. Say what you like about Baker Company and Meehan, but he's sure a lot freer with liberties than Sobel ever was. Bill, Joe, Luz, Melarkey, Randleman, and Martin head into London to party it up and pretend they aren't an ocean away from their families and looking at jumping out of a C-37 and into more trouble than they can imagine come spring.

Bill and the others head to the kind of bar that Joe doesn't usually go to, and Joe goes off to hook up with his GI. Then before the night's even half started, Joe shows up, plonks down beside Bill, and orders a beer.

"Thought you were going to find whatshisname," Bill grouches, as though he minds actually seeing Joe when they're on liberty for once, especially without having to go to a fairy bar himself. (Bill does partake in that kind of thing when he can get it, but he's not fucking going to risk getting caught at it.)

Joe grabs the beer as the barman sets it down and chugs over half of it before saying, "No, he sent a note saying he'd be out of town for a bit."

"He get transferred?" Bill asks. It would be just Joe's luck if this schmuck got sent to North Africa right when it seemed like things were working out.

"No, he said he had to help out a buddy." Joe demonstrates how convincing he finds that by ordering a double scotch.

"Not just a buddy," Bill says, "if he's ditching you at Christmas for 'em."

"I'm sure he'll write."

The GI doesn't write, not until almost February; at which point, Joe throws out the letter unopened. He throws out the next five, too, and eventually whatshisname gets the message and stops writing.

Joe's in the dumps after that, spends more time with Bill and the boys from Easy and less time chasing tail. That suits Bill just fine, even if he's sorry Joe's down about it. He tells Joe that it was better to end it now anyway. They have the jump into France coming up, and they don't have time for _lady friend trouble._ Joe tells Bill to go fuck himself but keeps drinking with him and stops hitting the special bars altogether.

Then they jump.

It's not until they're back in England after Normandy and pretty much everyone's having Thank Christ We Survived sex that Joe seems to perk up again. He figures out a deal with one of the farmers, sets up a love next in a disused cottage, and starts screwing around with a junior lieutenant from Third Battalion. (The lieutenant is a replacement; almost all of the men in Third are replacements.)

Joe's latest fling gets engaged an English girl a week later and invites Joe to the wedding. ("This," says Bill, "is why you should never go out with officers.")

On the happy couple's big day, Joe and Bill take Babe into London to show him the sights. Bill's in the middle of explaining the intricacies of English beer to the new kid when he catches Babe staring across the bar over his shoulder. Bill turns and scowls when he picks out a schmuck in civvies and way too much pomade playing darts with Joe. They're standing close. Way closer than they should in a bar like this.

"Who the fuck is that?" Bill asks, but Babe only shrugs and shakes his head. They don't know anyone who doesn't live in uniform. The greasy bastard is an outsider, and Bill doesn't like it one bit.

"Right." Bill slides off his bar stool and starts across the room.

"Really?" Babe asks, mouthy little fucker that he is.

"You bet your ass," Bill says and goes over to the dartboard. The asshole has his hands all over Joe by now, like he needs to show Joe Toye how to play darts. Joe's not objecting, yet, but Bill's pretty sure it'll get ugly in a minute. Joe doesn't like to be touched, not by a stranger. Bill catches Joe in a half headlock, yanking him away from the intruder. "Where ya been all night?"

"Right fucking here," Joe snaps back, but he doesn't pull away.

"Not over there, having drinks with me and Babe is what I mean," Bill continues, ignoring Joe's half-strangled glare. The intruder opens his mouth to say something, and Bill gives him the kind of look that makes replacements shit their pants. Greaseball disappears after that.

"Thanks, pal," Joe grumbles, following Bill back towards the bar. "You just shot down my best chance of the night."

"Best chance of getting arrested," Bill tells him. They find corner loud enough that they can put their heads together and talk without being overheard too easily. "What's going on in that thick skull? That asshole could have been plain clothes Met or an MP or who knows what. You gotta be more careful."

Joe blinks and looks at Bill like he hadn't even considered that, the idiot. "That'd be about my luck," he says and sighs. "How come I always pull the fucking screw jobs?"

Bill doesn't have an answer to that. Seems like Joe should have his pick at a time like this, but when he does pick, there's always something wrong with the guy. Plenty of them just want to fuck and run, and the ones that don't end up being nuts or cheaters or have something else the matter with them. Bill doesn't know how a man with consistently great taste in music, beer, and movies can have such shitty taste in men, but here they are.

Joe sulks for the rest of the night, and Bill doesn't even try to goose him out of it. Man needs to learn some sense, Bill tells himself.

A couple weeks later, Buck Compton takes over the pub in Albourne and throws a "Hey, we didn't jump into Paris" party with most of his platoon and a bunch of guys from first. By about 0200, it's pretty much just Joe drowning his sorrows in the back booth and Captain Nixon passed out on the bar. Bill has spent the night listening to the sad tale of every shitty guy Joe has ever dated, and is contemplating murder, though he's not sure who the victim will be yet. The leading candidate is Joe's last date, who showed up with the clap and didn't mention it until Joe asked what the fuck was wrong with his cock at a crucial moment.

"I sure know how to pick 'em," Joe moans, and that's it. Bill's done.

"You gotta stop putting up with shit from these dirtbags, Joe," he hisses. It's hard not to yell at him, even though so far as he knows it's just them and Nixon, and Nixon's unconscious and probably wouldn't care anyway. "You need someone who's going to treat you right, not another asshole who's just in it for a quick fuck, and sure as hell not another prissy son of a bitch who wants to wait until the war's over, like it's ever gonna end. You need someone who gets you, how smart you are, and how good you are with the men, someone who's looking for a hell of a guy, and not just a great-looking ass."

"And cigarette trees and lemonade springs, too, huh?" Joe grumbles. He slams his empty beer mug down and goes out to get some air.

Joe's replaced a few seconds later by George Luz, who's slunk up on them, the bastard. (And Bill keeps saying it's _Joe_ who needs to be more careful.) "So… why don't you just fuck him, and save us all watching you two mope?" Luz asks.

Bill briefly considers the possibility that he's finally found his murder victim, but in the end if Luz heard any of that and hasn't called the MPs or walked out on them, he's a man worth keeping around. (And a part of Bill that he'll never let out wants to wrap every Toccoa man who survived Normandy in a bear hug and never let go.) So instead of strangling Luz like he wants, Bill snarls, "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I been watching you two do this dance for years. You're clearly not going to be happy with any guy he picks," Luz points out. "Even the decent ones, you glare or nag at until they run away. Hell, you'd probably chase off someone his ma liked, just cause you know best what's good for Joe Toye."

"His ma liked me," Bill says, which he realises isn't really undermining Luz's point, so he tries again. "That's bullshit, George. I just want him to be more careful. You never know what kind of jerks are cruising around here."

"No," Luz says with exaggerated patience, "you want him to fuck someone who's in the Airborne and doesn't screw around on him and is careful about getting caught and respects what a good sergeant he is and thinks he has a great ass. You might as well say he should only date someone from South Philly. That'd take out everyone except you and Babe, and Babe only likes dames."

"Jesus Christ, Luz, I just—" Bill starts to say, but Luz smacks him in the arm.

"Oh please. You just wanna fuck him, is what you just."

That stops Bill cold. It isn't right. He's never thought of Joe that way, well maybe he's noticed he's good looking, but Bill notices how everyone looks. It's a habit. A man has to get some enjoyment out of life. Bill just wants what's right for his best friend, that's all. He tries to imagine Joe shacked up with some fellow, maybe the GI from before Christmas, someone Joe's ma likes too. They could live in New York or Chicago and be happy together, a couple old army buddies making a go of it. Bill knows that he should feel glad for his friend when he thinks about that, but instead he wants to throw up. The urge to shoot the messenger and murder Luz rises again, and Bill shoves it back down.

"Fuck," Bill says.

"Yup," Luz agrees. "Glad we're on the same page, finally."

"Fuck," Bill says again. Now that he's thinking of that word in the context of Joe Toye, there's a whole train of thoughts that go with it, from the engine right back to the caboose. Joe really does have a great caboose. Bill realises he's been lying to himself about not wanting romance with his rolls in the hay, and he's been doing it for a very long time. "What if we screw up the platoon?"

Luz snorts. "Like that'd ever happen. You two live in each other's pockets anyway, may as well get something out of it, huh?" He finishes Bill's drink and shoves out of the booth. "So there you have it: today's advice for the lovelorn from Jolly Old Saint Luz."

Bill flips him the bird, but Luz isn't looking.

Shit, Bill needs to talk to Joe. How the fuck is Bill going to talk to Joe? Just march right out there and say it, he figures. There ain't no one who's ever called Wild Bill Guarnere a coward, that's for sure.

Joe's leaning against a blacked out streetlight half a block away from the pub when Bill finds him. His idea of getting air involves smoking, so Bill lights a cigarette off the tip of Joe's.

"So I ain't been totally honest with you," Bill says after a couple of drags.

"Oh yeah?" Joe answers. He looks like he's bracing to hear another rant about his taste in men and like he really doesn't have the heart to take it right then.

"Yeah," Bill tells him and steps up into Joe's face, chin tipped back, shoulders squared for a fight. "Why don't we go back to that little love nest you found, and maybe I'll show you a few things?"

Joe looks Bill up and down and shakes his head like he's trying to get water out of his ears, then grinds his smoke out on the lamp. "I don't need a pity fuck, Gonorrhoea."

"Yeah, well, I do," Bill says, which is enough to really get Joe's attention. "I'm sick and tired of watching you moon over ever prick on this stinking island, then watching every fucking one of 'em treat you like dirt. It should be you and me."

"You're crazy," Joe says, but he isn't saying no or moving away, so Bill takes the last step in until they're chest to chest.

"Crazy for y—" he starts to say, and Joe shuts him by plucking Bill's cigarette right out of his mouth and taking a drag before putting it back between Bill's lips.

Joe touches Bill's hand and tugs him down the street towards the alley and its shortcut to the love nest. Bill goes along easily, promising himself to kiss Joe stupid when they get there and then fuck him until Joe forgets every other man he's ever so much as looked at.

Turns out, when they get there, that Bill forgets, too.


End file.
